Healing Hands
by Calliope29
Summary: Harry Potter is an enigma. A boy with red hair, bright green eyes, and a strange talent in healing. Abused by his relatives, Harry finds himself guided by Severus Snape and joined by his friends as he reenters the wizard world and discovers Hogwarts isn't everything it seems. What is the secret behind Harry's affinity for healing? And why has Fawkes taken such an interest in him?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

There was a little boy that lived on Private Drive. The neighbors couldn't tell you which house was his, they could only be certain that the young boy with flaming auburn hair lived somewhere in the area. He was often seen strolling the streets, slightly hunched over, hands deep in his pockets as if trying to make himself as small as possible. His hair was long and untamed, hanging in curtains around his face, concealing any other features.

Those who had sons and daughters whom were ten and in the boy's year could tell their parents that the soft-spoken child's name was Harry Potter. They could attest that the redhead showed up for school everyday by means of his own feet, carrying a ratty rucksack. They would also mention his renowned status as school pariah and easy-pickings for the local bully, Dudley Dursley.

However they would fail to mention his angelic singing voice. They wouldn't comment on how athletic the young lad was, despite how it seemed Harry was destined to be a beanpole. They certainly wouldn't bring up his almond shaped, strikingly green eyes. They wouldn't be able to. Harry hardly said a word unless spoken to directly, and he most certainly didn't sing above a whisper in music. He didn't participate in any athletics and sat alone with a book when the other children went outside to play during their free time. And nobody would be able to claim they even knew what color eyes the young boy had, so rarely did he ever make eye contact.

Harry Potter was an enigma. A fascinating being that was bursting with potential at the seams, yet slipped between the cracks of society. Most would never even have noticed the child, lest Dudley demean and belittle him at every turn.

But I, reader, have many words and many pages in which I can unravel the mystery of whom Harry Potter really is. And where our story begins, is number four Private Drive in Surrey, the little slice of hell on earth that our young hero had the misfortune to call home…

-HP-

Harry found it nearly impossible to open his eyes the morning his life changed forever. His eyelashes had long since glued themselves together with tears. Reaching up with his hands, Harry gently rubs them, massaging them open with practiced ease. His depressingly familiar bedroom greets him like it did every morning. A single spider scurried across his pillow and clouds of dust rained down on him as his cousin, Dudley, stomped down the stairs.

Living in the cupboard under the stairs had its disadvantages. Still, the small cramped space had been his safe haven for years now. It was the place he was thrown in like a discarded sock after every beating he endured from his whale of an uncle, Vernon. Strange things did happen in this cupboard. The cupboard was the only place _it _happened.

A loud bang resounds in the small space and Harry flinched, though it was part of his daily routine. A shrill, distinctively female voice pierced the air. "If breakfast isn't on the table in fifteen minutes, you will be punished!"

Harry grimaces at the mention of being punished. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he murmurs softly in response.

The lock clicks open and Harry pushes the door open slowly, emerging from the dark cupboard with caution, eyes distrustful when the way seemed to be void of abusive relatives. When Dudley wasn't there to greet him with a good morning punch in the gut, Harry wasn't sure whether to be relieved or extra cautious.

Sighing, Harry steps into the hallway and moves towards the kitchen. Upon entering Harry caught sight of the table groaning under the weight of what seemed like fifty wrapped presents. Dudley was all but drooling over them as Uncle Vernon sat there, mustache twitching beneath his beady-eyed smile. Petunia was fawning over her 'little' Duddy-kins.

Harry sighed. How could he have forgotten it was Dudley's birthday today? He inched his way towards the stove, careful to not disturb the familial moment, knowing if he didn't keep to the shadows, he would be beaten. That was how this house operated. Somehow the clothes were washed and folded. Somehow breakfast and dinner magically appeared on the table. Somehow the dishes were sparkling. Somehow the garden got weeded and pruned.

Yet Harry himself rarely had a proper meal. He only had ratty hand-me downs that had holes and were muted in color, washed out from overuse. Harry himself wasn't part of the family. He was the slave combined with a punching bag. A worthless, waste of space that should consider himself lucky his 'generous' and 'doting' family didn't cast him out onto the streets like the cretin he was.

But deep down Harry knew he wasn't a freak. He knew he was special, different. And that it bothered his relatives. Because _it_ happened, and happened frequently. Harry knew it was somehow his doing.

As his mind ran in circles, formulating ideas and then casting them away, his hands worked independently: Flipping the bacon periodically, tending to the eggs and seasoning the sausages. After years of preparing food for his family, the procedure was mind-numbingly natural to him.

He was just setting several dishes on the counter, as the table was still groaning under the weight of the presents Petunia insisted Dudley open only after breakfast, when there was a sharp rap at the front door. Harry froze and noticed the confused look his aunt and uncle shared. Apparently, they weren't expecting anyone. Without hesitating, Harry shot out of the room and into his cupboard. He wasn't allowed to be seen by company. And if he were to be seen, it would result in a beating.

As soon as he was enveloped in the familiar darkness, his uncle waddled to the door and opened it. Harry sat shock still as he listened to the conversation that followed, senses working overtime to make up for his inability to see.

For reasons unbeknownst at the time to Harry, he'd always had excellent hearing and olfactory senses. His sight tended to be blurry but he chalked that up as a consequence for spending too much time straining his eyes in the dark of his cupboard.

In any case, the man at the door didn't seem to be winning any brownie points with his uncle. The man's voice was low and silky, drawing out syllables and caressing certain letters with his voice. He seemed to be no stranger with dramatics as he often paused or spoke with a sneering, cool tone. To Harry, the man smelled like chamomile tea, nutmeg and several other herbs and spices he couldn't pinpoint. He imagined the man spending much of his time in gardens or kitchens.

"How can I help you, sir?" He could hear his uncle say. His sincerity could be questioned and Harry knew the politeness was forced. The man at the door was clearly a stranger.

"I'm here as a representative from a school. May I come in?" The man drawls, politeness sounding equally as forced.

Harry frowns to himself. It sounded to him as though this man was offering a position in whatever school this man was representing. Surely Dudley, the boy whose only hope at survival was the sole fact that jellyfish survived thousands of years without a brain, could not have caught the attention of a school board. Not unless the school doubled as some kind of Juvenile Delinquency Attention Center.

Vernon didn't seem to draw the same conclusion as Harry did though. "Oh!" he sounded pleased, "Did Dudley get awarded some scholarship?"

"No," the man sounded as though he was on the same page as Harry regarding his cousin. "I'm here about your nephew, Harry Potter."

Despite the fact that Harry did not know this man the way, the way he spoke his name gave Harry the impression the man knew _him_. He didn't sound too happy about it either. He spoke his name as though it were a filthy word. Harry both cringed at his tone and froze in shock. What school wanted him? A mental asylum?

Not to his surprise, his uncle answers sharply, "There is no Harry Potter here. I don't have a nephew, now if you'll excuse me."

There was a dull thump and Harry realized the man had stuck his foot in the door his uncle was probably trying to close in his face. "I am no fool, Vernon Dursley. If you don't bring Harry Potter to me, I will come in and find him."

"Are you trying to threaten me?" His uncle demands and Harry can imagine him spluttering, face red and mustache quivering in rage, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Yes, I am." The man states calmly and in a matter-of-fact fashion.

"Who do you think you are, just bursting into _my _home and demanding to see a nephew that doesn't even _exist?"_

Harry cringes. This man was really winding up his uncle. He knew he would be the one paying for these comments later on.

"Who I am plays no part in this conversation, muggle. It wouldn't matter if I were myself or a giant man named Hagrid. Potter will be coming to this school in any case."

Though the delivery was odd, Harry ignored the language he could not understand and instead wondered _what_ school wanted him so badly? Who was this man? It took his uncle a second to respond and if it weren't for his excellent hearing he wouldn't have heard him utter, "You're part of _that _school. I will not have you freaks teaching him anything. He's already freakish enough on his own. No, I won't be paying for him to attend!" His voice rose in a hysterical fashion by the end of his tirade.

Harry pressed himself up against the door. A school of freaks? Like him? He wanted to know more. He wanted to see the man standing on the other side of the door. It took all his self-control not to throw open the door to look.

"You have no say in the matter, I'm afraid. And If I ever hear you refer to me as a 'freak' again, you'll be very sorry indeed. Now, where is the boy?"

There was no response from Vernon and Harry did something he knew he would regret very much later. He pushed the door to his cupboard open and stuck his head outside slowly.

The man didn't notice him immediately. He was too busy glaring at his uncle with dark eyes the color of charcoal. His irises were so dark and deep Harry had trouble distinguishing his pupils within them. He had sallow skin that clung to his angular face, giving him a sharp and stern appearance. His nose was crooked and appeared to have been broken at least once and healed the wrong way. His thin, pale lips were pressed together in frustration and his raven, black hair hung to his shoulders, framing his face and giving him a menacing look.

He was lanky, standing at least two inches taller then his uncle and stood straight as though there was an invisible ruler strapped to his back. He was wearing clothing Harry had never seen before. They appeared to be robes, black and long, undulating when he moved as though they were caught in their own personal breeze. The man exuded confidence and darkness, but at the same time, Harry could not sense any bad intentions towards him. There were, however, plenty directed at his uncle.

Once he caught sight of Harry, his eyes softened fractionally before hardening. They narrowed as he took stock of where he had just stepped out from.

"Hullo, sir," Harry said timidly, a small quaver in his angelic voice.

His uncle bellowed like an injured animal, "What are you doing out of your cupboard… I mean, bedroom?" He demands fiercely, taking a single but, to Harry, menacing step forward, causing the young boy to cower in his uncle's shadow and the man to intervene.

"Mr. Potter," he cuts across, "How much do you know about Hogwarts?" He asks bluntly.

Harry furrows his brow and wracks his brain, searching for any mention of whatever this Hogwarts is.

The man sighs in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just as I thought, you're as ignorant as a muggleborn. Come here, Mr. Potter. You and I are going to have a long conversation, out of the presence of this whale of a man."

"He will do no such thing!" Vernon shouted, face turning a blotchy shade of purple as her clenched his fists, eyeing the coatrack like it would make a good weapon.

Harry felt caught between a rock and a hard place. Surely for stepping out of his cupboard and being the reason this strange man was currently invading his home, uncle Vernon would beat him. But on the other hand, he had no idea who this man was. Though he could sense no ill will towards his being, he still did not feel comfortable waltzing off with a stranger.

Sensing his obvious distress, the man says, "My name is Professor Severus Snape. I'm the potions master at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He reaches into his pocket and pulls an envelope free, handing it to Harry.

"W-witchcraft and Wizardry?" Harry stutters, taking the letter with shaking hands. The paper felt archaic and thick, much thicker then regular paper, and had loopy green words inked into the outside of the letter, addressing it to Mr. H Potter, cupboard under the stairs. As he stared at it in wonder he noticed the ornate red wax seal and ran his finger over it.

"_Yes_, Mr. Potter. You are a wizard."

* * *

**Alright, first chapter up! I've had this idea bouncing around my mind for a couple months and have finally put it on paper! I have every book planned out so hopefully updates will be quick and simple. My stories will vaguely follow cannon but this story ****_definitely_**** has a twist. The pairing I have in mind is Harry/Hermione but if anyone has any other idea I'm open to them! I'm going to try and keep Snape in character for the fist couple of chapters but in this story, he can't see much James in Harry and finds it hard to be cool when he discovers Harry's abused.**

**So… Review, because I love to hear what people think! (And don't be shy when telling me I suck because I strive to improve. So go ahead, attack all my awful grammar skills)**

**Like it or not,**

**Juliet (Calliope29)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

The Leaky Cauldron was a small bar in the middle of London. From the outside, it looked rundown and abandoned. There was no light in the window and the sign creaked eerily as it swayed in a breeze, completely off kilter with chipped and peeling paint. From the outside, it looked like nothing special.

Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting when the man, Professor Snape, had come bursting into his home that morning, telling him magic existed and that he was a wizard. Maybe he expected pearly gates or people in pointy top hats, he wasn't sure. It certainly wasn't this, however.

Still, he wasn't one to judge a book by the cover and if he closed his eyes he _could_ feel a certain tingle in the air, as if it were alive and buzzing. They stood outside the door for only a moment before Snape gave him a small shove towards the door without saying anything.

The man had mostly been silent on the way down. After handing him his letter he'd announced to his uncle Vernon that they were going shopping for school supplies. Harry had followed without hesitation. The idea was ludicrous but somehow felt right. He was a wizard. It would certainly explain some things. He'd read his letter in comfortable silence as they took the tube into London. Snape didn't particularly look like he enjoyed the ride, but Harry was thrilled. He'd never been on it before, having never left Surrey.

He was, of course, bursting with questions on the inside, however he held his tongue, deciding to wait until the man spoke first before asking anything.

He was hurried inside the rundown bar. As they got farther in, Harry realized that the tingling in the air became stronger. Perhaps he was right, and it was magic he was sensing? There were many people and Harry had faltered to a stop to take everything in.

A man was stirring his tea, without touching his spoon. Chairs were floating across the room, setting themselves up and skidding into place as if moved by invisible hands.

"Can you believe how the price of dragon blood has gone up? Absolutely mad, I tell you. Merlin!" He hears from a booth of gossiping ladies.

Another nudge between his shoulder blades has Harry moving again. "I shall explain everything to you once we reach a private booth. No doubt you have questions," Snape says, signaling the bartender as they approached.

"Professor Snape!" The kindly looking man greets as he wipes down a glass with a towel, "How can I help you?"

"I need a private room, quickly if you please, Tom," Snape responds curtly.

The bartender, Tom, nods and gestures for them to follow. After settling into a small, secluded booth at the back of the bar Tom asks, "Can I get you a drink?"

"I'll have a firewhiskey," he spares a quick glance at Harry, "And he'll have a butter beer."

Tom smiles and says, "Coming right up." He wanders off to the back of the bar.

Snape waits until they both have their drinks before speaking. "There are many things you probably have questions about. But before I start explaining I want you to tell me everything you know."

Harry pauses to think. He watches the smoke curl of the glass his Professor had in his hand and gives his drink a cursory look before taking a sip. His eyes light up in delight as he swallows. It was better then he'd expected. Actually, probably one of the best things he'd ever had to drink.

Finally he says quietly, "I don't know anything. I'm sorry, sir. My aunt and uncle told me magic doesn't exist… were my parents magical?"

Snape seems to stiffen at the question but his eyes held murderous intent. Harry instinctively shrinks away and Snape narrows his eyes at this, relaxing himself slightly. "Yes, both your father and mother were magical."

Harry smiles to himself before he inquires in an unsteady voice, "You wouldn't happen to know their names, would you?"

Snape's eyes widen fractionally before returning to normal and he rubs the temple of his forehead. "I shall start from the beginning then."

"Your mother's name was Lily Potter nee Evans and your father's name was… James Potter," he spit out the name _James_ doing little to hide the clear anger it brought. Harry sinks further into his seat, wondering if there was bad blood between the two, and if he would get caught up in it.

"On Halloween, ten years ago, they were both murdered by the Dark Lord," he continues, voice becoming monotone, painful memories forcing him further behind a mask he had in place.

"M-murdered?" Harry stutters timidly, eyes wide as this sinks in. He feels tears threatening to spill over, but manages to hold them in.

Snape softens slightly upon seeing the shock and tears in his eyes. "How did you think your parents died?"

Harry hesitates and murmurs, "Aunt Petunia told me that my father killed them both by driving drunk in the car…"

Snape heaves an exasperated sigh, "No, Potter, that is not the case. During the time your parents were killed there was a war going on. The Dark Lord went after your parents," he pauses as if looking for the right words, "He tried to kill you too."

Harry glances up, eyes wide before wilting back into his seat like a sun deprived flower and closing his eyes wearily. Behind his eyelids danced a flash of green light and a cold laugh rang in his ears.

Snape plowed on, "Nobody knows how, but the curse the Dark Lord used rebounded and destroyed him instead. He left nothing but that scar on your forehead. For that reason, you are… quite well known in the Wizard World. You are the only person to have survived the killing curse."

Harry discreetly dries his eyes and ponders this silently. Opening his eyes, he inquires, "Why… How?"

"Weren't you listening? I just said nobody knows how. In any case it would do well to conceal that scar. It has become a bit of a legend, " he sneers the last part. "I'm sure you have more questions about the school and this world, all of which I shall answer while we retrieve your school supplies. However for now, do you have any other questions about this topic?"

Harry bites his lip and squeezes his hands together under the table before asking softly, "What was the war about?"

Snape leans forward onto his hands, which were clasped beneath his chin and replies stiffly, "Pureblooded bigotry. A pureblood is when a wizard's ancestry is not mixed with muggle, meaning non-magic beings, blood. There are three categories of wizard blood, Potter. Half-blood, meaning someone's who has a muggle parent and a wizarding one. Pureblood. And Muggleborn, meaning the person has two muggle parents. Purebloods think they are better then muggle-borns. The Dark Lord sought to… weed out the muggle-borns and kill muggles."

Harry sets his glass down, suddenly not in the mood for the rich drink that was making his stomach turn over. "Oh," he manages.

"Oh, indeed," Snape replies, draining the last vestiges of steamy amber liquid from his glass. "Now, if you are quite finished with your drink, we must be on our way. I have plans."

Harry scrambles out of the booth, "Of course, sir, I'm sorry," he all but trips over himself in his haste.

Snape smirks and calls to Tom, "Put it on my tab. we'll be on our way."

"Of course, Professor," Tom responds, "Have a good afternoon!"

"Come along, Mr. Potter, and for the love of everything holy, keep that scar of yours covered."

Harry hastily flattens his long auburn locks over his forehead and follows his Professor to the back entrance. It leads out to an ally, which seemed to be nothing special until his professor pulled out a long slim stick (and upon Harry's confused look sneered, "A _wand_, foolish child.") and tapped several bricks on the back wall.

At first, nothing happened but Harry felt the familiar twinge of magic in the air, and suddenly the bricks began to shift until an archway formed where the wall had once been. Harry sucks in a breath as he peers through.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Potter. Don't stand there gaping like a fish, close your mouth and _walk_."

And Harry did just that. The motion was mechanical but his head swung from side to side as he tried to take in the entire alley. There were all manner of shops and folk meandering around in robes similar to Snape's. Some were haggling with street vendors, some were chatting and eating ice-cream piled so high, the laws of physics were sure to be off somewhere in the world weeping. He even saw a gaggle of kids his age peering longingly at a window display.

"It's the nimbus two-thousand!" One said.

"The fastest model yet!" Another chimed eagerly.

"Expensive, though," a third comments, pouting slightly.

Suddenly, a though occurred to Harry, and with said thought, his face flushed a deep shade of red, nearly matching his hair.

"What is the matter, Potter?" Snape asked, exasperated that his charge had once again ceased all motion and was staring at the ground morosely.

"I- I don't have any money, Professor," Harry says meekly.

Snape rolls his eyes and sweeps ahead, not bothering to check and see whether Harry followed or not. "Nonsense, that's why we're visiting Gringotts, the wizarding bank."

Harry still didn't see how this would solve his problem, yet hastened to catch up. As they continued their brisk pace towards a large, impressive looking marble building, Harry begins to get a small headache. He began to notice that, if he looked closely, he could see orbs of light. Some were a pearly sheen of white, others glistened various shades of color. He spotted a wink of gold in the crowds somewhere. He discovered, if he closed his eyes and focused, he could see them more clearly. They all emitted a glow and different emotions and feelings. Harry wondered what they were exactly, and resolved to ask Snape at a later time.

He was so busy looking around that he didn't notice Snape stop until he ran into his solid, black-clad back, stumbling away a few steps. "Do mind where you're going, Potter," the indifferent man sneered.

Harry blushed and murmurs a quick apology. Then, he glances up to see they'd stopped at the door of Gringotts, "Sir?" He asks.

Snape turns to face him and says, "The bank is goblin run. Mind you manners with them, they can be deviously tricky creatures to handle. That being said, they are also very clever. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Harry answers promptly, finding himself eager to enter the building and see the goblins.

Snape presses his lips into a thin line and opens the door, leading him in.

The goblins, Harry decided, were scary. They were stout little things, with pointy ears and razor sharp teeth. Most had long and crooked noses and all had black and beady eyes. Unconsciously, Harry leaned towards Snape for protection. Neither notice to action.

As they approached a teller Snape bows his head slightly and greets the goblin by saying, "Hello, may your gold flow freely."

There was a pause and Harry felt sure the goblin was about to leap across the teller booth and sink his teeth into them. The goblin, however, merely nodds his head in acknowledgment and says, "Greetings, may your vaults always be full. How may I be of service?"

"Mr. Potter here needs to retrieve money from his vault," Snape says.

Harry recoiled automatically. He had a vault? He had _money_?

"And does Mr. Potter have his key?" The goblin asks, eyes turning to look at the young boy with an intense gaze, black eye glittering.

"I have it here," Snape slides a hand into his pocket and retrieves a key. As he pulled it free, the bronze winked in the light of the chandelier overhead.

The goblin grabs the key and inspects it by holding it up in the light. His long, lithe fingers with sharpened claw-like nails ran over it in a caressing manner. "Everything seems to be in order. Come along Mr. Potter," the Goblin says, addressing the young boy for the first time.

"_Yes, sir,_" Harry replies automatically.

Snape breathes in sharply and raises an eyebrow in the direction of the teller.

The goblin, too, had frozen for a brief second but recovered quickly and asks, "_Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you realize what you're doing?"_

Harry furrowed his brow, "_No? Did I do something wrong?"_ he asks, panicking for a brief moment. He glances at Professor Snape whom was regarding him with a cursory gaze, as if he were a specimen he wanted to slice open and dissect, perhaps to use in a potion.

"Potter," he said slowly, as if speaking to a cornered animal, "You aren't speaking English."

* * *

**So, I updated twice in the same day. I mostly want to get through all the boring stuff quickly so I can really get into the meat of the plot. I had some difficulty writing the explanation Snape gives. It was hard to keep him in character through that (did I do a decent job?). I do love writing his dialogue though! He has such an eloquent way of speech that I love to mimic. Anyway, I'm hinting at a few of Harry's powers but don't worry, it all has a logical explanation and I don't plan on making him a perfect little thing (where's the fun in that?). Also, as I get into it… I'll admit, I'm a New Yorker who has only traveled to England once (when I was like, eight), so please tell me if I screw up with any of the customs or slang.**  
**So tell me what you think! I'd really love some feedback! ;)**  
**Like it or not,**  
**Juliet (Calliope29)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter**

At first Harry was confused. How could he be speaking a different language, and not know he was doing it. "_I- I don't-"_ he pauses mid-sentence. Now that he was paying closer attention, the syllables and words that were rolling of his tongue, felt different, though sounded the same to his ears. It felt as though his tongue was doing acrobatics in his mouth. With great effort he manages to say in what he hoped was English, "I'm sorry sir… I don't know what just happened."

The professor merely raises and eyebrow and turns to face the goblin who had a small smirk on his face as though amused now that he had overcome the shock. "Am I correct in assuming he just spoke to you in fluent Gobbledygook?"

"Quite so, Professor Snape," the goblin replies, then to Harry he says, "Tell, me, Mr. Potter, does this happen often to you?"

Though his initial reaction was to deny having done anything that could be labeled as 'freaky' he pauses to think back. "_I don't," _he sighs in frustration, "I mean: I think it happened once when I was in working in the garden. Only I was talking to a snake…" he admits, trailing off when Snape inhales sharply.

"Parseltongue, you say?" The goblin murmurs to himself, "I think I have an inkling as to what is going on. You haven't heard of a Silvertongue have you?"

"You think that is what he is?" Snape asks sharply, staring down his nose at the boy who cowers under the intense pair of eyes on him.

"I have very little doubt, though a test would have to be done for me to be positive."

"A _test?_" Harry whispers, images of being cut open and poked and prodded at immediately entering his mind.

Sensing his concern Snape is quick to assure him, "It would only be a matter of taking a few drops of blood… of course this would have had to be done anyway if we were to get your bank statement."

"Blood!" He echoes, alarmed.

Snape waves his hand flippantly, "It would be healed immediately afterward, no need to make such a fuss, Potter."

Harry crosses his arms over his chest as if trying to make himself smaller, "R- right, sorry, sir!" He murmurs.

Snape narrows his eyes at the action but does not comment. He faces the Goblin and asks, "If it is all right with Mr. Potter, then this test should probably be performed in a private room, yes?"

"If Mr. Potter agrees, then yes, this will take place in a private warded room."

Both Goblin and Professor turn to Harry expectantly. He realizes that they want him to choose. "If- If Professor Snape says it'll be okay then I will."

"Excellent," the Goblin says, "Right this way."

Harry soon realized that magic must be at work. The building, though appeared relatively large of the outside, could not possibly have this much square footage. He tried to keep track of where they were going during the walk but eventually gave up on the cause after they took their tenth left turn and passed fifteen doors. Snape seemed slightly exasperated with all the walking but it did not seem new to him.

Finally, they reached the correct door and headed into the room. It was clearly an office. A large desk sat in the center, hiding beneath an inundation of papers. The goblin seated himself behind the desk and gestured to the two chairs in front. Harry sat warily.

The Goblin produced a piece of parchment and a dagger, setting them in front of Harry and leaning back into the chair. "A couple of drops should do the trick."

Harry picked up the dagger, the metal cool and heavy in his hand. He pricked his finger against it and allowed a few drops of blood to fall onto the paper. As soon as it was done, he quickly set down the dagger, and drew his finger to his mouth to nurse the small cut.

Snape rolled his eyes and stated, "Do not do that. Give your hand to me."

He grabbed Harry's hand, noting how small it was in comparison to any other eleven year olds he had seen. The glimmer of concern goes undetected as he runs his wand on the cut sealing it and murmuring, "Episky," under his breath.

Harry drew back his hand instantly and inspected it, holding it up the light to make sure the cut was truly gone. "Brilliant," he soliloquizes.

Snape smirks, "It was but a simple healing spell."

The tone in the churlish man's voice did not bother Harry, who was two busy watching the parchment now. His blood had been seemingly absorbed in the paper and writing was appearing. Before he could decipher the small cryptic writing, the paper was removed and the Goblin cleared his throat before reading, "Harry James Potter. Vaults: Vault 713 (Trust) containing 1,400 galleons, Vault 715 (main Potter vault) containing 29,351 galleons, 113 sickles and 86 knuts, Vaults 714 containing heirlooms, furniture, books and other objects of value, Vault 109 (Lilly Evan's Vault) containing 32 galleons, books and letters."

He pauses here and says, correctly interpreting Harry's furrowed brow, "A galleon, sickle and knut are wizarding currency. 17 sickles to a galleon and 29 knuts to a sickle. A galleon is about five pounds."

Harry's eyes go wide as he mentally does the calculations. "But… but. I have money? I…" he trails off, unable to complete a coherent sentence.

Snape narrows his eyes, forming a mental list of questions so he could interrogate… make _polite_ inquires about the small boy's home life.

"Does that parchment contain any information about what was last withdrawn? Perhaps some money in pounds to a family by the name Dursley?" Snape asks the goblin.

The goblin skims the page. "There appears to be a withdrawal from the main vault of 30 galleons every couple of months for the past ten years going to this family. Would you like me to halt this?"

"_What?_" Harry demands, in his anger slipping into Gobbledygook once again. He shakes his head and turns to Snape, "The Dursley's are being paid to look after me? 150 pounds?"

Snape's latches onto the comment like a leech, "Yes. Is there a problem with that?"

Harry freezes. He did not want to talk about the neglect and abuse. Yet he'd led himself straight into a corner. "N-no," he manages.

"Do not lie to me Mr. Potter. I do not tolerate that. Now tell me the truth, for I am not blind. You think I cannot see the way you flinch when I raise my voice? That I did not see where you stepped from nor read the front of your Hogwarts letter?" Snape snaps, yet there was no bite in his voice.

"Sir?" Harry asks, feigning ignorance but looking up with wide pleading eyes.

"Potter, I will not play games. Are you neglected or not?"

Harry sinks back into his seat. "No sir…" he replies trying to keep his voice firm.

Snape breathes through his nose and turns back to the goblin. "You said you could explain his abilities?"

The Goblin nods curtly, "I did indeed. Unfortunately I cannot get a clear reading."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"It says on the parchment he has Silvertongue abilities and mage sight but he has not come into his inheritance so I can't be sure where these gifts have come from," the goblin explains.

"Mage sight?" Snape repeats.

"What is that?" Harry asks worriedly.

Snape smirks, "Nothing bad let me assure you. Have you been able to see anything strange though? Balls of light, perhaps strings of color?"

"Yes sir. But only since I came here. Isn't it common?" He asks.

The dour man sits back in his chair. "No. It is not."

Harry frowns. So he was a freak even among his own kind? "Oh."

"Is that all the service you need?" The goblin asks.

"Mr. Potter also needs to make a withdrawal… about thirty galleons should be enough for his school supplies," Snape muses aloud.

The Goblin inclines his head. "It shall be done. You can pick it up on the way out."

"Excellent. Thank you for your services. May your enemies bow before you." Snape bows his head slightly, standing.

"You as well." The Goblin answers, watching as Harry scrambles to stand up, following his professor's lead, and trails behind he out the door.

The rest of the trip passed in a surreal blur. It was as if trying to recall a dream, only you were still in the dream. Impossible and Harry wondered if this 'mage sight' was part of the cause. Since Snape had pointed out some things in the bank, he'd noticed vague lines, stings, connecting to things, intertwining and running through people's wands. It produced a dull throb at his temple, like a tiny angry squirrel was beating a nut against it.

The tape-measures at Madam Malkin's had a slight blue glow around them, the same color as the magical core, for that's what Snape said he was seeing, of Madam Malkin. She was controlling them. He was watching magic at work. It took his breath away.

With clarity though he could recall getting his wand.

The shop seemed rundown, almost abandoned as they stepped into it. It was in a less busy section of the alley, though there was still the general hustle and bustle. It was desolate; no one was in the front of the cluttered shop. Long slim boxes lined shelves and Harry could see particles of dust in the air. He could sense magic in the air, much more then outside, all vying for his attention. He blinked and Snape called into the shop.

"Olivander."

Harry flinched in surprise when from behind a stack of boxes an old wizard stepped out. He had the face of a wizened man, face etched with lines that told stories and mapped out his every facial expressions. He had smile lines around his eyes and a shock of white hair. Beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows a pair of limpid blue eyes sunk into his face. They seemed almost timeless and bore into him searchingly for a moment.

"Harry Potter," He murmured, voice thick with mystery, "Yes, I was wondering when you'd visit my shop. Oh yes!"

Harry blinked, brow knitted together. "Sorry sir… have we met before?"

The man blinked and guffawed. "Met? Dear heavens no! But your reputation seems to precede you Mr. Potter. Yes, yes indeed. The scar is legend after all."

His hand immediately flies to his forehead, checking to make sure his hair was still smoothed over it like his professor had requested. "Oh," he murmurs.

"As eloquent as always, Potter. Use words that have more then one syllable when answering people," Snape drawls, the action more of a defensive reflex it would seem as he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward of a headache.

"Sorry, sir."

Olivander claps his hands together. "Onto wands yes? I presume that is what you came here for?"

He moved towards the back of the shop and hums to himself, fingers running over the boxes, giving them a lingering caress. Harry watched and frowned as he pulled a box from the shelf and opened it, revealing a dark, slim piece of wood. "Cedar wood, unicorn tail hair, seven inches, quite supple. Go ahead, give it a wave."

Harry took it in his hand, frowning at the awkward feeling. A sting of magic from the wand seemed to reach out to him, licking his hand as if to assess him.

"I… I don't think it's right." Harry murmurs, mostly to himself.

Olivander takes the wand back without question. "No, I did not think so either. Normally I'd say that the wand choses the wizard, and it does, but in this case I think I can let you browse a bit. Test that sight of yours, and find your own connection."

Snape tilts his head, watching the process with slit eyes. It was uncommon, no, completely unheard of for Olivander to break his little… ceremony. Many muggleborn he'd taken to find a wand and never once had Olivander broken his established routine.

Harry however, did not seem to realize this fore he quickly nodded his head in agreement and followed the elderly man into the back, running his hands along the boxes in the manor he'd seen Olivander do.

All felt wrong. Like wearing your shoe on the wrong foot.

But suddenly he felt a tug in his mind. A bright light caught his eyes and he turned toward it. He reached out and clasped a perspiring hand around the box and shifted the top of with delicate care.

The wood was a pale brown and he could see the pattern of grain beckon him almost enticingly. The handle was intricately carved with notches, the texture soothing under the pads of his fingers. He smiles slightly as the magic from the core of the wand branched out and linked onto to him.

There was a flash of light.

"Curious oh curious. Yes. I had thought you might like that wand. In fact, I had hoped it would choose you. Rowan wood, phoenix feather core, eleven inches, springy. Yes, that is your wand mister Potter. I have not a shadow of doubt," Olivander murmurs in a soft tone. "You will do great things."

They held eye contact for a moment. Emerald green meeting blue, clashing. It was unnerving. A flash in Olivander's eyes told Harry he knew something he did not.

"Have you found a wand yet, Potter?"

He jumped and tore his eyes away from Olivanders, casting a glance at Snape who stood straight in the door, looking as though he knew he'd interrupted something.

"Yessir," Harry replied quickly, backing away from the aged man.

"Good, pay and we can be on our way," the command was thinly veiled.

Olivander lifted his chin slightly and says, "It will be seven galleons, Mr. Potter."

Harry quickly produces the correct amount and hastens to stand by his professor's side, seeking comfort in the man's shadow.

"That will be all then. Good day, Olivander," Snape murmurs as he guides his charge towards the door.

"You as well," the man replies evenly, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

Harry shudders slightly as they step out of the shop. The sound of people moving around and chatting struck him as odd, the quiet of the shop seemed to have sunk into his bones. It felt weird leaving, disorienting even, like time had stopped in the presence of the wands but continued around them, leaving them behind. He refrained from asking what year it was.

They walked in relative silence for several paces, Snape guiding Harry back towards the main entrance to the Alley. Finally he braved the void and asked, "Olivander was…" drifting off not knowing where to begin.

For the first time all day an emotion besides exasperation or anger flickered over his Professors face. Could the fleeting twitch of his cheek muscle and thinning of his lips have been amusement? "Olivander is eccentric. Do try not to read to far into the ramblings of the man."

**So yeah… Basically I've been gone forever. I have no excuse unless pure laziness counts. Does it? I didn't think so. Anyway, chapter three, exciting right? We've got an explanation, we have a wand, I think we're ready to board the Hogwarts Express. Yay! Any questions or comments, my email is always open. I hope this was satisfying I think I lost it in Gringotts and then my muse decided to pay me a visit when we got to Olivander. Anywho… Sorry for any grammatical errors I'm basically at that point of sleep deprivation where you start to see dancing bunnies around the room ;)**

**Like it or not,**

**Juliet (Calliope29)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter**

Harry pressed his head against the cool glass of the train, keeping a sharp ear out, trying to catch the tail ends of conversations. He heard the voice of the maternal redheaded woman speaking to one of her children, telling him he had dirt on his nose. He smiles to himself as said boy complains. A knock at his door pulls his attention away and he glances over to see who was there.

In the doorway stood a girl who looked to be around his age. She had an untamable main of dark brown curls. They fell just past her shoulders and he noticed she was already in her school uniform even though the train had yet to take off. She smiled slightly, though it did not make it to her whiskey colored eyes, which seemed more anxious then anything.

"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger. Both my parents are muggles we didn't even know about magic until the day my letter came and they were both ever so excited for me. Of course, it explained a few things like about that time-"

Harry blinked in surprise at the sudden onslaught of words, looking to get a word in edgewise. Finally, he decides to just cut her of completely before the nervous-rambler said something she may regret. "Hi Hermione, my name's Harry. Would you like to take a seat?"

The girl blushes quickly and drops down into the seat like she'd been ordered. "Thanks," she murmurs, averting her gaze.

Harry clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable: Interactions with kids his age wasn't something he was entirely used to. "So you say you're a muggle-born? Both my parents were magical but I was raised by muggles."

The nervous twitch of her lips turned into a full-blown grin. "Really?" Her smile falters and her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, "_Were_ magical?"

Harry glances out the window. "Yeah, but it's fine."

Hermione remains silent for a few moments before asking, "Did you know about magic?"

"No. They never told me."

"I see." The conversation drifts off again.

After a few minutes of silence, both kids trapped in there own inner musings, the train lurches forward. Hermione presses up against the window to watch the train station by in a blur, "I'm so excited. I've been reading all about the magical world ever since I found out."

"Me too. The professor that took me told me to get extra books," Harry muses aloud, remembering how Snape had sneered and shoved a few extra books on wizarding culture and potions at him before they left the bookshop.

"Who took you?" Hermione asks.

"Professor Snape. He's the potions master."

Hermione leans forward eagerly, "Really? Potions seem so intriguing. It's not like any other branch of magic. Professor McGonagall took me. When she showed up we didn't believe her but then she turned my living room table into a pig and back! My father turned red! They're dentists, my parents I mean."

Harry laughs, a tinkering sound and Hermione relaxes slightly. "You sure do talk a lot. In a good way, Hermione," he adds when he notices her blush.

"I've never really had a friend before," Hermione admits shyly, "The kids at my old school used to call me a know it all."

Upon the admission Harry felt he should put her at ease, or at least admit that he too had a troubled child-hood, but he couldn't bring himself to admit to any of the names he'd been called by his relatives. Instead, he leans forward and pats her on the shoulder, "I think you're brilliant."

"Really?"

"I try to avoid lying, Hermione," Harry smiles reassuringly though.

The rest of the ride passes uneventfully, Hermione was more then eager to talk to Harry and he was, in turn, more the eager to listen. He'd never had anyone treat him like they cared about his opinion. It was a pleasant change.

"And then I accidentally turned my teacher's hair bright purple!" Hermione finishes. By this point she'd shifted to sit next to Harry.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, she obviously couldn't prove it was me."

Just then the door slides open and an elderly woman pops her head in. "Anything of the trolley, dears?"

Harry digs into his pocket and fishes out a couple of galleons. He'd never had a treat before. Not unless you counted the butter beer Professor Snape got him. "What is there?" He asks curiously.

The woman proceeds to list a whole bunch of foods he'd never even heard of. Drew balls, liquorish wands, blood pops, cauldron cakes. Overwhelmed he manages, "What's you're most popular?"

Harry ends up with a chocolate frog, package of Bertie Bop's Every Flavor Beans, and a pumpkin pasty. "Hermione, are you going to get something?"

"My parents never let me have candy…"

"Go on, try something."

"I don't have any money," Hermione tries to wave him off.

Harry ignores this. He'd never been able to share with a friend before. "She'll have a cauldron cake please!"

The lady complies with a smile before bidding them a good day and moving down the aisle continuing her call. Harry smiles and hands Hermione the cake, who reluctantly accepts. "Thanks, Harry."

He smiles easily and examines his find. "You don't think this frog is real, do you?" He jokes as he pulls open the package.

With an easy snap the container opens and as soon as the tops was out of the way, a brown blur streaks out and lands on the window. Hermione jumps, eyes wide and Harry nearly topples out of his seat. "I… I was kidding," He manages as the chocolate frog leaps into his hand, settling down as the magic wore off. He could see the charm fade with his sight and didn't take a bit until he was sure it was gone.

The frog was indeed pure milk chocolate. It melted onto his tongue and he hummed happily to himself, watching Hermione tentatively take a bit of her snack. He focused on her core. It was a trick he'd taught himself over the weeks before school. Blocking his mage sight and only seeing the strings of magic when he wanted too. Her core was a very light shade of yellow. He found himself wondering what the colors meant. Perhaps he'd find a book on it.

"Is it good?" Hermione asks curiously.

"It is! I've never had chocolate before." Harry admits almost absentmindedly.

"Oh really? Why ever not?" She inquires, picking up the package of Bertie Bops and examining the backlist of flavors.

Harry shrugs idly and says defensively, "Dunno. Are there any good flavors?"

If Hermione noticed anything off in his tone, she doesn't comment, instead answering his question she replies, "I don't know about good flavors but they aren't kidding when they say every flavor. Listen to this: Earwax, elephant skin, frog, grass, paprika. Holey crickets, they have the flavor dirt!"

"That's… interesting."

Hermione tosses it back onto the seat. "I'm not risking that."

Harry chuckles again.

-HT-

It wasn't long until the moon had risen and the color drained from the sky. Harry had long since changed into his school robes, fingering the crest on his tie and wondering which house he'd get into. He considered all that he'd read in Hogwarts: A History, and about the different attributes of the houses. Hermione definitely seemed like she'd get into Ravenclaw.

"I'm secretly hoping for Gryffindor. The headmaster was in that house, did you know?" She's said when he'd asked.

The train slows to a stop and the two new friends followed the general flow of people outside.

"Firs' years over here! Firs' years! Can I get the firs' years over here please!"

"Goodness, look at that man!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry turned his attention to the giant of a man with a beard that consumed his whole entire face. His mane of hair looked coarse and thick, like that of a horse's tail. He was dressed in a ratty trench coat that seemed to have a thousand pockets, and a pair of boots that clomped on the ground.

Harry shrugs and her and Hermione follow him to boats where they were instructed to get in groups of four. Harry and Hermione end up squashed in a single boat with a rather nervous looking plump boy and a small blonde girl. They had introduced themselves as Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot.

Hannah kept shooting longing glances at another girl with red hair. Harry assumed they were friends who got separated.

"Everybody in?" The giant man whose name they discovered to be Hagrid asks. "Right then. Forward!"

The boats took off. Harry takes a deep breath, breathing in the surrounding smell of the forest and closed his eyes. He couldn't 'turn off' his mage sight, only push it to the back of his mind. But even with that, all the magic was giving him a bit of a headache. He rubbed his temple.

"You alright there, Harry?" Hermione asks worriedly.

He opens his eyes and grins, "Never better! Just a little tired." That was true, he was a bit tired. He'd stayed up all last night in his excitement.

Hermione opens her mouth to respond when suddenly, everyone was gasping and pointing behind them. Hermione murmurs, "Oh it's beautiful!"

Harry twisted in his seat, careful not to rock the boat as he did so. As he did he caught a glimpse the most ethereal castle he'd ever seen. Spiraling towers and illuminated windowsills, ancient bricks and a pulse in the air. He could taste the magic and see bright wards flare around the castle, enveloping them and accepting them. He shuddered. This was his home.

They docked and clambered up a set of stone stairs to a large pair of ornate oak doors. They dominate the entrance. At the top stood a woman in a pair of robes and a pointy hat. Her greying hair was pulled into a bun and seemed to pull her skin taunt with how tight it was. Her face was lined and looked stern; her lips were pressed into a thin line.

"That's professor McGonagall," Hermione whispers to him.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. I am Professor McGonagall In a moment you will enter the great hall and will be sorted into your houses. Your house will be your family. You can earn points by answering questions in class and doing other good deeds but be warned, any foolish behavior will result in the loss of points. At the end of the year, all the points will be tallied and the house with the most points will win the House Cup so I suggest you behave. And try to straighten up before you enter…" her eyes jump to several people, including Neville who had his robe buttoned up the wrong way.

Hermione was nervously jumping from foot to foot. Most looked frightened or at least intimidated.

"Follow me."

And so they did. The doors were forced open and they entered. The hall was most impressive. Four long tables were at the heart and at the front of the hall there was one for the teachers. Harry spotted Snape at the end of the table and Dumbledore. With his half-moon spectacles and long beard he was easily identifiable from a book he'd read. The ceiling was breathtaking. It showed the night sky and all it's stars. Harry could see the magic weaving into the spell and smiles as Hermione whispered, "It's not really the night sky. It's enchanted. I read it in Hogwarts: A History."

Harry had learned on the train that Hermione treated all books like they were the Holy Bible, sacred and to be trusted and taken care of with the upmost respect. Harry thought this little quirk was pure Hermione and cute, but he could see why she got teased in her old school.

They were led up to a chair with an old hat sitting on it. To Harry's upmost surprise, that hat seemed to open at the seam and proceeded to sing a song in an old voice detailing the traits of the houses. Once it was done, the hall burst into applause.

"I will now call your names alphabetically. Please step up and try on the hat when I do," McGonagall says. She clears her throat before calling, "Abbot, Hannah!"

Hannah trudged up the stool and settled herself on it nervously. The hat was placed on her head, falling over her eyes. She sat there for a minute before the hat called, "_HUFFLEPUFF_!"

And on it went. Name after name was called. Hermione was sorted into Ravenclaw. Some went to Gryffindor, others to Slytherin. Finally though his name was called and it heralded complete and utter silence.

"Potter, Harry!"

The crowd parted for him and he nervously walked up to the stool, praying his robes hid his trembling knees. He sank onto the stool and allowed his vision to be consumed by the black material of the hat.

He jumped when a voice spoke in his mind, "Harry Potter. Yes, you are going to be tricky… let's see."

_You can read my thoughts?_ Harry thinks, tone urgent.

"Of course, how else am I to know where to put you? Don't worry, you're secret is safe with me, I can't repeat any information I get."

Harry breathes a shaky sight of relief.

"Most have that reaction. On to the sorting, yes? Slytherin… definitely not. A fine thirst for knowledge. Perhaps Ravenclaw? I sense courage and strength but Gryffindor would not be good for you… very difficult, very difficult indeed."

_Just put me where I'll be accepted… please!_

"You want to be accepted? I know just the house for you then. Yes indeed. Better be- _HUFFLEPUFF_!"

**Another chapter, yay! So yesterday my school team had our championship game. We beat our rival school 3-2 in overtime on ****_their_**** field when earlier in the season they beat us 6-0. I was so inspired to write that I spat out this chapter. It's a bit shorter I think but a lot happens so I hope it makes up for it. **

**I've gotten some great suggestions so I want to thank branchkk (Guest) and Ddragon21 for some good ideas! I'm going to try and incorporate them into the story. So review and tell me what you think.**

**Like it or not,**

**Juliet (Calliope29)**


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